


Mooreeffoc

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [303]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 14:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12843342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: I saw this word/non-word this morning, and its definition, and I had to play...mooreeffoc: noun: coffee-room, viewed from the inside through a glass door, as it was seen by Dickens on a dark London day; ... used by Chesterton to denote the queerness of things that have become trite, when they are seen suddenly from a new angle." [J.R.R. Tolkien](definition from dictionary.com)





	Mooreeffoc

From the moment John had stepped into Sherlock's presence, and he had acknowledged him, with a flicker of his eyes, he knew one day it, no, it wasn't an it, they would become a them, an us, the kind of them/they/us people that kiss on the stroke of midnight on New Years, well, perhaps not quite like that, he was Sherlock after all, let's be real, but they would become something more than they had been, he hadn't quite expected it to startle him as it did. 

It had seemed a perfectly normal day. Well, normal for them - Sherlock had finally fallen asleep on the couch after solving a case that should have taken him twenty minutes, except John had made him eat something, and that got him thinking about the thing in the fridge that he wanted to work on, and that led him to - well, eventually the case that should have taken twenty minutes took him a day and a half and then there was the ubiquitous chase followed by the interminable filling out of paperwork. Meaning John filled in the blanks, while Sherlock paced and grumbled, then signed off on it and left in his normal huff.

Lestrade sighed and rubbed his face. "You know, he's better than he used to be - since he met you, since you've become, I don't know... friends?" John knew they all wondered, if they weren't 'together' why, how could such a 'normal' bloke like John live with...

"We aren't - haven't."

Lestrade nodded. "Well, whatever it is you do, it is appreciated, our turnover rate has dropped exponentially, so thanks, mate." John somehow managed to grin, then left Lestrade's office and made his way home. He still had enough time to catch a nap and shower before his shift, and he'd miss the beginning of the strop that was sure to begin shortly. He entered the flat quietly, pleasantly surprised, though not all that surprised to find Sherlock fast asleep on the couch, wrapped up tightly in his coat, his scarf about to fall from his fingers, shoes still on. John rolled his eyes as he gently removed the scarf from his friend's elegant fingers that he never allowed himself to dwell too long upon, and managed to get his shoes off, before he found himself sitting on the floor next to the couch watching Sherlock sleep. It was like observing a rare animal in its natural habitat, he was afraid to move, for fear of disturbing him, then being caught out - but eventually he slowly got to his feet, and fell into bed himself, and was out cold before he could even think to set his alarm.

"Hell." He opened his eyes and knew he had overslept.

"I called your office - told them you were a bit under the weather." 

"Huh? What time is it?"

"Two in the afternoon. Get up, John, I have to, I uhm, well, I did something - no - well, yes, - but I - best way to explain it is mooreeffoc."

"What?" John sat up and blinked at him.

"Tolkien, from Chesterton via Dickens - not a 'word' word, more of an idea - it's coffee-room backwards, when you see something in a different way that you haven't before, makes you think differently, rearrange things, uhm -" Sherlock pressed his fingers together, took a deep breath and began again. "I woke up this morning, about the time you should have left for work, guess I expected the 'getting ready for work noises' and they didn't happen, so I worried that you didn't get home safely, but before I texted Lestrade at that ridiculous hour, I got up and went to find you. Then, I noticed I wasn't wearing shoes any more, and I realised you must have taken them off for me, and my scarf was neatly put away, suddenly I understood. And I wanted to find you, needed to be sure you were okay. I opened your door and there you were, sound asleep. I stood there for I don't know, fifteen minutes? Could have been an hour, not sure, and I was torn between sliding into bed with you, or going into the kitchen and checking on the thing I put in the microwave before we left for the case - no, you don't want to know - point is - it was the first time a thought of you came before anything else, but that's not entirely true, it was the first time it registered in my head. I took off your shoes, they are by the front door - and tucked you in - I called your surgery, and then I went shopping."

"You went shopping?" For some reason that was what stuck out in John's mind at that moment, not the part where Sherlock admitted to wanting to climb into bed with him, or his worrying that he didn't make it home - but that the git had gone shopping. "Shopping for what, exactly?"

"I've been hearing you sing Christmas carols in the shower lately - and I guess I just assumed you have some fondness for this silly season - I'm afraid - I might have gone overboard, but -" 

John yawned, and nodded, and somehow got to his feet, and tried to walk past Sherlock who was blocking the doorway. "Close your eyes."

"Sherlock."

"Please, John." John's jaw dropped in shock, but he closed his eyes and let Sherlock take him by both hands and into the sitting room. "Open, please." Seeing the word please come from those lips in that voice twice in under a minute was just too bloody much for him. 

"Damn." He reached up into Sherlock's curls and pulled his face closer. He paused briefly to give Sherlock time to stop him. He didn't. When they pulled away, after - they still aren't quite sure to this day, how long it lasted. And Mycroft's CCTV had been on the fritz that day, unfortunately, so there is no recorded evidence... sorry, slightly off track... When they pulled away, John turned, spun, is the word Sherlock uses, he does tend to be dramatic - John spun, looked around the room, and kissed him again. Somehow in a few hours, Sherlock had gone out and purchased a real, live - (it's not technically live anymore, John, yes, yes, I know) tree that smelled exactly like Christmas and it was the perfect size and shape - had put lights on it, and ornaments and candy canes (rather run on there, John, yes, I know it's your version, go on) and had found a brilliant gold star for the top... there were stockings, three, one for each of them and Mrs. H, a fire was going in the fireplace, and there was a cup of cocoa waiting for him next to his chair. With whipped cream - no marshmallows, Sherlock had even known he didn't like marshmallows. How he ever deduced that -

"Why?"

Sherlock shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged before meeting John's eyes again. "Because I love you."

"Oh."

John paused for a moment and tried to come up with something like language.

"Since?"

"Dunno."

"You always know."

"I - when I woke up and didn't know where you were - and then I... since I met you. But, I don't - never have - didn't trust it - and - you have girlfriends and - I don't know how to be anything than what I am - and I - wait. You kissed me twice."

John nodded.

"And I, uhm, liked it."

"That was the impression I got."

"You - me - us - a them? A 'them' them? A them that goes to those dreadful holiday parties and dances together and makes everyone else jealous because they are obviously so in love that they can't keep their hands off the other?"

John laughed and murmured, "I was hoping for something like that kind of them, maybe even the them that kisses on the stroke of midnight on New Years?"

"Let's not go crazy, John." Sherlock whispered against John's lips before picking him up and carrying him back to bed. Where, there was, indeed, a midnight kiss not too many days later.


End file.
